Turnabout Is Excellent Play

Round black rubber pads were fastened to his biceps, abdomen, thighs and legs, secured with Velcro straps. These pads also had wires attached, all gathered behind his back. His preparations had been performed so quickly that Hermann had almost no time to think about his surroundings, but now that they were were complete and the staffers had left, he had a little time to look around. He was not gagged, and he noticed that the pole was padded behind his head. He contemplated the devices and equipment standing about or hanging on the walls with considerable anxiety, though not a little curiosity also.

The wall in front of him was mirrored, and three rather elegant chairs were set up in front of it, the center one almost like a throne. Looking in the mirror he could see that his wires and tubes were gathered neatly behind him, but did not seem to be connected to anything. Innocent until proven guilty, he though wryly. What would be the chances of acquittal by this kinky kangaroo court - not very high, he supposed. It had been just about twenty minutes since Jen had breezed out of the bedroom.

The door opened and a JenLiz photographer came in with a large, imposing video camera on a tripod, and several still cameras hanging from his shoulders. Herr Strauss squirmed and seethed with anger, used as he was to being asked for permission before being photographed, but he squelched his complaint as the irony sank home. A moment later Jen walked in, with Sara right behind.

Jen was no longer naked. Dressed in elegant professional power clothes and carrying an expensive-looking briefcase, she cut an imposing figure, her well-fitted cream-colored blouse and dark jacket bulging slightly as they flowed over her breasts, her cleavage just enticingly visible. Dark pants and dress boots completed the ensemble, along with a wide black belt with an elegant oval buckle. The buckle itself was suitable only for special occasions. Embedded in the ivory inset was a naked woman standing over a kneeling man, whip at the ready, the woman cast in gold, the man silver. It was old and had been passed down for generations with some embarrassment in Jen's family, and Jen loved it, though so far she hadn't been able to determine which of her ancestors had commissioned it, or why.

Sara had changed since breakfast also. She was dressed in the same clothes she had worn to the rehearsal with Herr Strauss; sexy short black skirt and dark blue halter top bulging suggestively around her breasts, exposing the tiniest bit of midriff. She had a thin black leather band around her neck, and elegant, rather ominous boots with high but not awkward heels, her legs delightfully bare from the top of the boots to the bottom of her skirt. Herr Strauss had of course no difficulty mentally stripping her, as he wistfully remembered falling asleep with his arms around her deliciously naked round bound body. He almost forgot, as he recalled the previous night, the uncomfortable bondage he was now suffering. He regretted passing over Sara at the first rehearsal for the cute young conservatory student in the last chair of the second violins, who turned out to be irritatingly unresponsive and called him a dirty old man, insisting he untie her immediately. Fortunately he had her pictures, and had warned her to keep quiet or her musical career would be over.

Jen and Sara took their places at the two side chairs, but did not sit. Liz walked in wearing flowing judge's robes, though it appeared she had nothing on underneath. As they sat down the photographer called "Hear ye, hear ye, this court is now in session, in the matter of Hermann Strauss vs. the Women of the World."

Herr Strauss could hardly suppress his urge to burst out laughing, but reminded of his situation by the plug in his ass and the tight straps which enclosed his naked body, he forced himself to keep quiet.

"Herr Strauss, you have heard the charges made against you when you were arrested," Liz called out, locking him in her icy gaze. "Do you wish me to repeat them, or in the interest of time can we proceed?"

Hermann's urge to laugh evaporated as Liz's penetrating gaze drilled home. Half deciding to play along, half truly frightened, he answered "No, your Honor, I understand the charges." It was clear that Jen represented the prosecution. Was Sara here to speak in his defense, he wondered?

"What is your plea?"

"Innocent." Actually, he was starting to feel quite guilty, but he was curious to see just what evidence might have escaped his efforts at concealment, and he was also starting to feel a tinge of pleasure at his predicament, an exhilarating excitement at the prospect of his sentence, which he was pretty sure would be executed by Jen.

Turning to Jen, Liz asked, "Prosecutor, what evidence do you have to support your charges against this man?"

Jen got up from her chair and walked up to Hermann, wearing an evil but exceedingly erotic smile, and showed him a picture, his picture of the conservatory student bound in thick silk ropes, looking rather frightened and not terribly sexy.

"How did you get hold of that!" he snarled, then suddenly realized his mistake. In most legitimate courts of law self-incrimination is not admissible, but in this court, he was doomed. Hermann had, for reasons we will never completely understand, made it his practice to give his victims copies of their pictures. Perhaps imagining that they would get turned on looking at themselves helplessly bound in rope, as indeed some of them did, gave him an added thrill as he enjoyed the pictures himself.

But there were more. Jen pulled out picture after picture, some decades old and hardly discernible, but Hermann remembered.

"How did you obtain these pictures?"

"I worked hard to prepare my case, Herr Strauss, and you should know that Sara was unaware of my efforts until after she left you last night. These women, blackmailed by you to silence, were assured that if they shared this information, you would be brought to justice, and after learning more about me and satisfied of my confidentiality they were willing to help. You are safe from them, Herr Strauss - you are not present in the pictures." Hermann's mind spun as he revisited each of these women, trying to remember each experience. How was it? Did she enjoy his advances? Was she frightened? How did she react to being bound? And hardest to remember, did she come? He really hadn't thought about it one way or the other, he realized with regret, recalling Sara's delicious orgasm the previous night.

"But consider your present condition, and the cameras trained on you now, Herr Strauss. Be aware that we have the best security there is to be had. Our pictures of you, including our escapade this morning, are perfectly safe, if I wish them to remain so."

Jen's eyes locked with Hermann's, as she let this implication sink in. He squirmed against his bonds, alternately remorseful at the lives he had left in a state of emotional limbo, and furious at the presumption of these women who had, it seemed, laid a trap for him and were now abusing him shamefully. What right had they to do this? But what right had he to behave so cavalierly to his lovers either? Adding to his emotional turmoil was the vision of Sara, right before him now, who played such beautiful music, whose company he had enjoyed so much, and who seemed to be more of an innocent bystander than an accomplice in his downfall.

"The prosecution rests." Jen returned to her seat.

Liz addressed the court. "Sara will speak for the defendant." Looking earnestly at Sara, Liz asked her what she had to say.

"The defendant has admitted his guilt - I cannot gainsay that. But he is not a monster - he was gentle and loving with me, and tied me up very skillfully..."

"He's had a lot of practice'" Jen muttered, "and good luck blackmailing you with bondage pictures."

"with complete care for my comfort. With gentle chastisement I believe he will mend his ways, if he has not done so already."

"Sure, Sara - you were probably oblivious to pain by then. I suppose you intend to deliver the gentle chastisement?"

"Jen, that was mean to take me from his arms - I was so happy..." Sara groused, and Liz, sensing the charade spiraling out of control and fearing a spat, decided to bring proceedings to a close.

"Order, please. I believe we have heard enough. Hermann Strauss, you have been found guilty of the charges brought against you. Have you anything to say before sentence is pronounced?"

Hermann decided that his best strategy was to play along. He'd heard of places in his own country and in England where people played like this, and his impression was that they went safely home to tea afterward - he hoped the same rules applied here.

"No, your Honor, I am guilty as charged, and I regret the suffering I may have caused. I will take care to be more considerate in the future."

Liz gripped Hermann with an icy stare. "The punishment for these crimes is to be lashed ten times with the whip, followed by two hours of painful electrically stimulated punishment exercise to be suffered while strictly bound."

A surge of terror coursed though Hermann's body like steel shards as he looked back into Liz's eyes, gradually appreciating the fearsome depth of her person, her powerful womanhood. Looking beyond the theatrical proceedings, he thought about the suffering he had caused, and supposed that the he probably did indeed deserve such a punishment, severe though it sounded. But he also had a plane to catch and rehearsals to lead...

"But the court has heard the testimony of Sara, and has decided to grant clemency. You will be lashed four times with the whip and suffer punishment exercise for one hour. Jen, you may proceed with the punishment."

"I need five minutes, your Honor," Jen requested with a gleeful grin.

"Granted. Court is adjourned." Liz replied. Lacking a gavel, she banged the arm of her chair with her palm as she looked once again into Hermann's eyes, not so unkindly this time. "Have fun with Jen."

"All rise" cried the photographer. Liz got up and walked to the dungeon door, her robes momentarily parting to reveal her bare legs, and just for the briefest instant, her attractive dark pussy. Hermann suspected this was not an accident, and primarily for his benefit - right now he controlled almost nothing. He couldn't even rise from his seat, but he assumed that he'd get a bye on that. Jen and Sara left moments later, followed by the photographer, leaving Hermann hanging in bondage alone, to contemplate his fate. The video camera was, he observed, still running, and he supposed correctly that in addition to recording his humiliation, someone was monitoring the feed to ensure his safety.

Five minutes seemed like an eternity. Hermann's arms were aching a bit, and the anal plug reminded him continually of his helpless condition. Four lashes - what would that be like? The punishment exercise didn't sound so bad - after all, he'd probably have gone to the gym if he weren't tied up here. He squirmed and fought his bonds from time to time, but they held him securely. He would be there when Jen returned.

Which was almost exactly in five minutes, though Hermann had no clock to check. Jen had changed again, and was now mostly encased in leather. Tall and ominous, her trim triangular pussy was salaciously displayed, though inaccessible to one bound as he was. Her top had clearly been made especially for her, as it perfectly matched and enclosed the almost artistic perfection of her tapered breasts, up to the point where her nipples sprang free. In her heeled boots she towered over Hermann, whose widely spread legs made his body fairly low in spite of his feet being off the floor. She still wore the belt, the buckle entirely suited to this outfit.

Hermann squirmed as he took in this magnificent sight. He supposed that if he had to be punished, it might as well be in style, and this appeared to be the best. Still, the sight of the long single-tail coiled in her hand, and his sentence of four lashes, sent shivers up and down his spine.

Jen walked up and stooped slightly to kiss him, her leather-encased breasts and bare nipples pressing on his chest. Straightening up she whispered in his ear "To be whipped safely you need to be tight, and I have to connect up your electrical pads too." She walked behind him and tightened his straps mercilessly. Hermann grunted in response as she quickly attached his wires and the hoses from his saddle to an ominous-looking console she wheeled over from the side. The sight of the power cord trailing from the console to the wall, along with the wires going to all his round black electrodes was terrifying - he simply had to trust that Jen knew what she was doing - she certainly did.

Jen returned front with a control pad in hand, the whip looped over her arm. She touched it and suddenly his anal plug seemed to come alive, growing and locking itself inside him, liquid flowing in and out. The sleeve on his penis moved slightly.

"Gott in Himmel, what are you doing to me," Hermann exclaimed, though he had to admit that however embarrassing it might be, the sensation was not entirely unpleasant. After all, the day had already been full of surprises. He looked over to the video camera, silently blinking, and felt thankful that at least it could not see what was going on inside him. He would have to trust these people for much more than just to release him unharmed that day.

"Herr Strauss, surely you did not expect just an ordinary whipping." Jen laughed as she set up a firm, steady stimulation in his ass and on his penis, enough to keep him aroused but not make him come. She backed away and set down the pad, then began swinging the whip back and forth, without touching him. Hermann winced each time it whistled past, floating in space between the pleasure in his groin and the fearful swish of the whip. Suddenly Jen reared back and took aim. Hermann winced and closed his eyes, clenched and steeled for the fiery pain he imagined he was about to experience.

CRACK. Hermann jumped and flailed in his bonds, feeling like he had just been slapped, not at all what he expected. A bit chagrined, he opened his eyes to observe an angry gash in the strap surrounding his chest, little shards of leather peeling from the surface, but no blood - the gash did not go through.

"Drat!" said Jen. "I hate it when that happens. Guess you get that one for free."

Preparing for her second attack, she locked eyes with Hermann, who squirmed with fear on the pole, trying to estimate what would have happened had the first blow landed on his skin, fully expecting to find out in another second. "My god," he thought, "this women must be truly insane - I'll need stitches after three of these."

But Jen appeared to be ready to follow through with the punishment. She reared back and took careful aim. Hermann closed his eyes again, shuddering with fear. The whip flipped around his back and landed with a soft snap on his belly, sending a sharp sting radiating outward to meld with the pleasure in his groin. Hermann opened his eyes as Jen erupted with laughter.

"You didn't really think I'd do that to you, did you?

"Mistress Jen, I have no way to know what you might do. I presume you did not really miss the first lash?"

"No, I did not."

Hermann Strauss was having the devil of a time sorting out his feelings. Who would have thought that being spread-eagled on a pole, plugged in the ass and rinsed out inside, while being whipped on the outside, could possibly be pleasurable. Indeed, in most circumstances it probably would not be. But this gorgeous, frightening, humorous and intelligent leather-encased women was giving him the ride of his life. He thought about music. Much music is not beautiful, and some, even some of the best, is jarring, even downright ugly. But taken as a whole, it is the stuff of human experience, boiled down to its essence. He had, in his musical life, plumbed the depths, extracted terrifying sounds from a symphony orchestra, but everyone left the concert hall uninjured. Was Jen similarly capable in her chosen realm - he was starting to think so. Perhaps he could even apply these lessons to his music.

His brief reverie ended as Jen approached him and locked him in her gaze again, though not terrifyingly.

"I'm good, aren't I?"

"Yes, Mistress Jen, indeed you are." He thought about high-flying soloists on the stage, star pianists and violinists who took chances every day in the concert hall. There were the occasional clinkers, but for every wrong note there were thousands of right ones. Jen had taken that chance. She could have missed, and he would have been hurt, but sizing her up he was pretty certain that the chance was very low. He thought briefly about French horn players, and quickly dismissed that thought.

"Would you like to see how good? You have two more lashes to go to fulfill your sentence. I can give you two more like the last, but that wouldn't be much fun, would it? Where would you really like them?"

Jen touched her lips lightly to his forehead as she massaged his nipples, which poked forward just beneath the freshly grooved strap across his chest. "I think these are the perfect spot, don't you," she breathed as she slid a little lower, brushing her own leather–encased breasts and projecting nipples against his. Hermann felt a surge of excitement through his entire body as he finally yielded himself totally to Jen. "However," she continued softly, "I need to hear you say yes."

"Yes, Mistress Jen, I think they would be the perfect spot."

"You must do exactly as I say. Pianos, whatever people may think, are not alive, and they do not squirm."

"She must read my mind," Hermann thought to himself, as he sank further into her thrall.

"Press yourself hard against the strap, breathe in deeply, and look straight into my eyes. Do not close your eyes until you are ready."

Hermann was astounded that he was cooperating in his own punishment, but the thrill surging though his body was unlike anything he had ever experienced before. He pressed himself against the strap, breathed in, and looked deeply into Jen's eyes. Who can describe the energy which flowed between them, the maelstrom of erotic fire, swirling through his very being. He closed his eyes.

CRACK. The sound was terrifying and an agonizing sting erupted from Hermann's left nipple, but it dissipated in milliseconds, swirling in with all the other sensations, physical and mental, surging through his body.

He opened his eyes, and his nipple was still there, a little red but apparently undamaged. Jen smiled seductively.

"Are you prepared to take stroke four?"

"Yes, Mistress Jen," Hermann replied, once again pressing himself against the strap and breathing in. Once again the energy flowed, Hermann feeling his entire existence sucked into this goddess-woman, then returned to him purified in the fires of hell, or heaven, perhaps both. He closed his eyes.

CRACK. The exquisite instantaneous agony-ecstasy once again surged. Hermann might never do anything like that again, but he would never forget the experience. He opened his eyes to see Jen approaching, smiling and whip-less, a small bottle of balm in her hand. She kissed him, being careful not to touch his nipples, which were starting to sting a bit, and put a little balm on her fingers. He winced as she first applied it to him, but the pain quickly subsided, replaced by a pleasurable warmth.

"I think you'll remember me for a few days, so I'll give you this bottle to take with you."

"Mistress Jen, I believe I will remember you much longer than a few days."

"Thank you. You deserve an orgasm for that, but not quite yet. You still have an hour of punishment exercise," Jen reminded him with a smile.